I'll Burn With You (MXM)

Chapter 7 : Jack

He could still hear the music from the Allisport Opera House as he strolled through the threshold of his home, the warmth from the hall's fireplace radiating; his fingers pained at the change of temperature. Jack tried to remove the side-eyed glances of those men from his mind as Doyle removed his coat, hat, gloves, scarf, and cane. He threw his dinner jacket over his shoulder, undoing his cufflinks and rolling his sleeves up. "Is Father still awake?" he asked. The grandfather clock stood tall against the wall of the library; its face read 02:14.

"He's in the library," the butler said, hanging his coat over his arm. "Would you like me to check for you?"

Jack shook his head. "Let me disturb him," he whispered, rubbing where the starched cuffs rubbed red against his skin. "That will be all, Doyle."

He nodded curtly, then left.

Mr. Byrd Sr. sat hunched over his desk, his own jacket thrown on the nearby chaise and his sleeves rolled up as well, a cigar smoldering in the ashtray on his desk. Paperwork still lay scattered over the desktop. He dropped his pen when the door opened. "I did not expect you back so early," he said lowly, a subtle frown cast upon his lips. His father's eyes were turned away. "Welcome back."

Jack pressed the door closed behind him.

He took in a breath then sighed. "How was the benefit concert?"

"It was fine," Jack sighed. "It was a gay affair, all things considered. I do not know why you asked me to go when you were able."

His father said nothing. He merely stared, contempt written across his face.

Jack took in a breath, grimacing.

"Anyone of note there?" Mr. Byrd Sr. asked, after a moment.

"Yes," he breathed. "The McKinnon's. They send their well-wishes to you and Mother, as do the Marks'."

He chuckled, a grunted sound. "I would hope the Marks do. I'm the man's damned business partner." He picked through the papers scattered about his desk. There seemed to be more than there had been before Jack left.

The teen took a step forward, stopping himself from moving any closer. "The...Curtis' asked whether we would be free to dine at their home sometime this month."

"They have a new estate in Hartswood Park, correct?"

He nodded.

"I'll have to reply when I can." His father leaned over, making a note. He glanced back up again. "Anything else?"

He swallowed. "Uh...Mr...Mr. Maher wanted to know – "

"I've already responded. He should receive that by the end of the week."

Jack moved forward, placing his hands carefully down on the back of an armchair, the leather warm against his fingers. "Father."

"I am very busy, John."

"Father, I am sorry. You must know that." His fingertips dug into the intricately carved wood. "I, I was angry, and – "

Mr. Byrd Sr. waved his hand. He did not glance up. "What's done is done."

"Father, I am sorry," he insisted.

He shook his head, sighing. "I have already contacted the postal service to keep an eye on any mail coming to us with the Society's name on it since you cannot recall the addresses or names."

Jack glared. He spoke, this time, with fire in his voice. "I am sorry."

"Regardless," he continued, tone level as the lake waters on a calm day. "Should we receive anything, we could always rescind the scholarships; I have considered that. However, the negative backlash from it could dissuade applicants for years to come." His father placed his head in his hands, sighing again. "...there are no words, Jack. There..." He shook his head. Straightening up, he picked up his pen and returned to working. "You are dismissed."